


Christmas Dinner with our Ghosts

by MiniRaven



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: 1872 (Marvel), Alcohol, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Christmas, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, POV Tony Stark, Past Character Death, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21870481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniRaven/pseuds/MiniRaven
Summary: It's December 25th, 1872. Tony goes out to the graveyard to pay his respects. He says a little more than the normal, "I miss you" to the former Sheriff Rogers.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 60





	Christmas Dinner with our Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote after I read 1872, but forgot about until now.
> 
> Forgot to say thanks to [SanaTomb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanaTomb/pseuds/SanaTomb) for the beta. Sorry 😭

Tony thought his birthday would be the hardest to get through. Hell, he thought the anniversary would be impossible to stand. But no, nothing was harder than Christmas without Sheriff Steven Rogers. At a time where his heart should have been full of laughter and cheer, all he felt was a cold emptiness similar to a sleeping forge.

Out here in the dry west where the snow don’t fall and folks don’t gather round the fire to warm their cockles, Tony dragged himself out across the dusty desert dirt to the graveyard. A lone tree as thin as a rake stood tall amid wooden crosses.

“Brought you a pig,” said Tony, tossing the charcoaled carcass onto Steve’s grave. “It’s all that’s left of those bastards that did this to you.

“Had to pay a hefty fee for offing three perfectly good pigs, but I don’t mind. Least I could do for some justice since Natasha decided to take care of Fisk herself,” Tony said, sliding himself down onto the dirt.

He pulled a bottle of whiskey out of his bag and popped the top. He reached back into his bag to grab a tin cup, but when his eye caught the name on the gravestone, a wave of sadness washed over him.

He’d seen it a dozen times before, but it didn’t make the emptiness in his chest hurt any less. Tony dragged himself over to the headstone and pressed his fingers to the beautifully carved name embedded in the rock. He traced his fingers along the swoop of the “S”, letting the edges press into the sensitive flesh.

“You’d have liked what they’ve done with the place. Nat and the new guy,” Tony says, taking a swig of whisky right from the bottle. “Made Timely into a right proper town. Where the law is just and not something to be twisted by greedy, fat hands. I just… wish you could see it for yourself.

“Things are better. People are happier. Town’s safer. The future’s looking brighter than ever. But to me, everything looks dimmer since you left, and I don’t know what to do to make it better,” Tony says, swirling the amber liquid around in his hands.

“Doesn’t matter how many horses I shoe, how many weapons I create, or how many drinks I have, everything still hurts. I tried going to a brothel like some of the guys at the bar suggested, but when I looked around at what they had to offer, I just couldn’t. Did matter how beautiful the ladies were, I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.

“I know what you’d probably say,” Tony said with a chuckle. “You’d probably tell me to pull my head out of my ass. There’s no use in crying over spilled milk. Go, gather myself up and carry on like the gentleman I was raised to be. There are people in this town that look up to me. That need me. I need to be strong for their sake.”

Tony spared a glance down at the half empty bottle and took a final swig. “Sorry to disappoint you, Steve. I’m not strong like you. Never was. Never will be. Maybe tomorrow I can pretend to be strong, but not today. I can’t do that today.”

With a low grunt, Tony pushed himself up off the ground. He was a little tipsy, but Tony had enough of his wits about him to know what he was doing when he turned the bottle over and poured the remaining drink over Steve’s headstone.

Expensive whisky glugged out the glass and soaked the ground. Rivers of amber liquid flowed back and forth across the headstone, washing off months of dirt and grime from between the crevices. The empty carving of Steve’s name filled with temporary spirits. Then his birth. Then his death. Once the grave and the ground were adequately soaked, Tony shook off the remaining drops and shoved the empty bottle back into his bag.

“Enjoy the whiskey, Steve,” whispered Tony as he watched the rich, warm spirit disappear into the ground. “Can’t go buying you flowers, so I got you the good stuff. Hope you appreciate it, you uncultured swine.”

The stone didn’t answer. Tony didn’t expect it to anyway.

Tony let out a long sigh and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He turned his back to the dead and started the long, quiet trip back to civilization. But just as Tony was about to leave, he noticed a woman with vibrant red hair on the other side of the cemetery gate.

“Missus Barnes,” Tony said with a tilt of his nonexistent hat.

“Mister Stark,” Natasha said with an equally polite curtsy as she closed the gate behind her black lace dress.

“Didn’t expect to see you here. I thought everyone would be at home tonight. It is Christmas after all, no matter how little snow is on the ground.”

Natasha smiled, but the light didn’t reach her eyes. “Christmas is a difficult time for me. Just here to give my late husband the Christmas dinner he deserves, now that his killer is finally dead.”

Quite the coincidence, but Tony’s not about to tell her that. “In that case, I’ll be on my way. Enjoy your dinner, Missus Barnes.”

But just as Tony put his hand on the gate, Natasha said, “I don’t mind the company.”

Tony’s blood turned as cold as the metal cemetery gate. “Excuse me?”

Natasha turned to face him, eyeing the bottle sized lump in Tony’s bag. “I said I don’t mind the company. I know how hard holidays can be when you’ve lost someone important.”

Tony bit down on his cheek, trying hard to hide the bubble of emotions welling up inside him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied.

“Sheriff Rogers,” she said, motioning to the charcoaled pig by Steve’s grave.

“Was a friend,” insisted Tony. “Nothing else. He wasn’t importan-”

“I saw the way you looked at him,” Natasha interrupted before Tony could spin any more lies. “You took up a gun after he was murdered, something you swore you’d never do again. That’s not something you would do if he wasn’t more than just a friend.”

Tony snorted. It was true, but Natasha didn’t have to know that she was right. “So?”

Natasha sighed. “So, nothing if you don’t want it to be. Just thought we could sit and have dinner with our ghosts. That’s all. It doesn’t get better, but it gets easier when there’s someone else that understands.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“You know I am.”

Tony nodded. He looks back at the town, lights flickering in the distance. Timely celebrating a rare moment of peace, joy, and merriment abound. Laughter and gay carols echo across the empty plains and Tony realizes, at least for now, that’s not where he wanted to be.

“You got any whiskey? Gave all mine to Steve,” Tony said as he walked away from the gate.

Natasha reached into her basket and pulled out a dusty bottle. “Drank half on his birthday. Saved the rest for tonight.”

“Give it here. Let me pour you a drink.”

Natasha smiled. “Make it a double.”


End file.
